These Small Hours
by NurfHurdur
Summary: A look into the lives of the Robinson family. Series of oneshots.
1. Late Night Discussions

**Author's Note: It has been years...I wrote this tonight after recieving multiple reviews and still continue to get emails notifying me that Racing Time is still being added to favorite stories and alerts. I need to finish it, and I am going to do my best to do that.**

**Believe it or not, I am still without a computer. Life has a way of making decisions for us and other things have taken precedent over what I would much rather be doing. This was all written on the notes app of my iPhone, please forgive any glaring mistakes. When I edit, I like having a full screen to see, only having a small section to look at at a time on the phone made that difficult.**

**Please enjoy this small oneshot, while reading back through Racing Time, there were moments that I literally cringed at my own writing. It's been _FIVE_ years since I originally posted, and I hope that I have improved.**

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><p>It was the house that never slept. Locals would sometimes claim that it was because the owner never slept.<p>

Wilbur Robinson snorted at that thought, staring blankly past the trails of rain water tracking down his bedroom window. Of course they slept, they weren't mechanical beings. His father might have been a key role in _creating_ the future but that didn't mean he was _from_ the future.

He wrinkled his nose at that thought, focus drawing inward now and away from the window. Before he could become distracted on another tangent of thought, he looked back toward the textbook in front of him.

It still looked like a foreign language.

It wouldn't have bothered him so much if it was, but this was his mathematics book. All printed in English.

He tapped his pencil against the desk, shifting restlessly in the chair and glaring at the work in front if him. No answers miraculously came forward, nothing popped off the page at him the way they showed in the movies where the genius made the big break in the problem and saved the day.

He wasn't a genius. He was an average high school kid, attending the classes meant for his age group. Well mostly, save a few...

He wasn't his father.

With a loud slap, he slammed the pencil in the middle crease of the book and stood from his place at the desk. Stalking to the window, he pushed it open to allow a rush of cool, damp, air to sweep into the room. Wilbur looked out across the property his family owned, out towards the glittering lights of Todayland. Talk about The Robinson house never sleeping, that city never slept.

The door to his room creaked open and he glanced to the side without turning around. Brown eyes falling from the city lights to focus wearily on the edge of the windowsill before him.

"The time machine's been put away, Carl. I learned my lesson."

"I knew I was quiet but never thought I was that quiet."

Wilbur's spun around, covering his surprise quickly as he took in the figure of his father at the bottom of the stairs. The man's white coat nearly glowing in the faint light of Wilbur's room.

"It's after one, Will. What are you doing up?"

The teen leaned back against the sill of the open window and waved a hand almost dismissively. "Contemplating the workings of the universe..."

The blond standing on the lower level blinked a few times at that, clearing his throat and putting his hands in his pockets as he started up the stairs.

"That's lofty thinking for this time of night."

"Seemed as good a time as any."

Robinson took a moment to take in the boy's stance, the rigid body language a sharp contrast to his usual fluid, self confident poise. He sighed and pulled his glasses off briefly to pinch the bridge if his nose.

"What's the matter Will?"

"Nothing. Why?"

He returned his glasses and paused before replying, knowing he just had to wait before his son broke and explained himself. After a few moments, he looked back towards Wilbur, growing slowly more concerned when he didn't seem to be gaining any ground. Planning on joining his son at the window, he passed the desk and glanced down at the books and papers strewn about. He stopped and tilted his head to read Wilbur's writing, then rounded back to see it better.

"This your homework?"

That certainly got a reaction, though, not an explosive one. The boy seemed to tense even further and his eyes took on an uncharacteristically hard edge.

"Yeah."

"Want me to check it?" He glanced up to gauge the response.

"There's nothing to check."

"Then do you want any help?"

The question was met with silence, and he felt like he was caught up in some kind of standoff. Wilbur wasn't like this, it was disconcerting.

"Will, do you want-"

"No! I'll get it, I'll figure it out! Just-!" The teen stopped abruptly, suddenly realizing the aggressive attitude he'd adopted. He rubbed the back of his neck and lowered his voice. "I just needed to take a break."

Robinson was silent for a moment, letting the statement hang in the air and looking between his decidedly angry child and the open book beside him. The comment the boy made when he first entered the room came back to him suddenly.

"Will-"

The reply was slow in coming, Wilbur's voice much lower than before. "Yeah?"

"When did you get back...with the time machine?"

Wilbur's shoulders tensed even further and he crossed his arms while looking to the side. "An hour or so ago..."

The more he looked at the book, the more he felt he had seen it before. A nagging thought grew steadily in the back of his mind.

"Did-"

"I _went_ to you for help-" Came the strangled reply. Cornelius had never heard this tone from his son before and felt the air in the room thicken.

Wilbur took a deep breath and lowered his brows, glaring at the book on the desk instead of his father.

"That's why I had the time machine, I thought you could explain it better than they did-" He drew his eyes away from the book and up to his father.

"I don't remember ever helping you with-"

"You didn't." The teen finally stepped away from the window, sounding exhausted. "I never showed it to you. I mean-...I'd gotten it out to work on but never asked-"

"Why?"

"You were working on your project for Wilkes University." Was the muttered reply, Wilbur standing on the other side of the desk now.

Everything clicked into place then, the memory coming to life with the comment. Like a gear sliding into motion and slowly catching up with the rest of the machine.

He'd been writing and rewriting the specks, covered in chalk dust, oil and grease. Wilbur's company had been welcome but he'd seemed distracted, watching silently as the equations on the board changed over and over again and offering few comments when asked for his thoughts. Watching the boy genius, not even sixteen years old and rivaling the grad students. While trying to decipher the much more simple equations in front of himself.

"Wilbur-"

"I'm not you."

"I never-"

"They all think I should be perfect at everything! Because I'm heir to 'The Father of the Future' I'm supposed to just know all this-"

The blond reached across the desk abruptly, unable to stop the tirade any other way, and set his hands on the boy's shoulders.

"Will. No one's asking you to be me."

"But I just don't get it."

"This is pre-calc, that's not exactly your age level either. That's a senior level course and you're only in ninth grade."

"Did you even go to high school?"

"Well...a little." The elder Robinson shrugged one shoulder.

"See? That's-"

"_This_ is what I see." Cornelius cut him off, picking up a report from the corner of the desk. The returned paper nearly flawless, with a lengthy comment in red ink across the cover page from the teacher.

"Your talents lie elsewhere, Wilbur. Your knowledge of history, combined with your writing skills have ALWAYS far surpassed my own. I learned so much from you then and I STILL do."

Wilbur's eyes scanned the paper his father held out to him before he gently took it from him, reading over the teacher's comment again before looking up as his father continued.

"I remember you sharing things you'd learned, _on your own, _mind you. For hours while I was working, you'd paint pictures with words over events and past lives of people neither of us had ever met. That's _just_ as important as what I do. You can't have a future without knowing the past, your own as well as others."

Wilbur grinned faintly and set the paper down, looking over other reports, textbooks and materials.

"Thanks..."

"Hey." Robinson flipped the mathematics book closed, smiling warmly with a paternal pride. "We all need reminded now and then."

He wrapped his arms around his son and patted his back before stepping back to allow the boy to make his way to bed. Starting down the stairs and pausing to look back when he heard Wilbur's voice.

"Hey dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you help me with that tomorrow?"

"Of course, son." He grinned turning to continue down the stairs. "All you ever have to do is ask."


	2. 124

**Author's Note: So I'm turning this into a series of oneshots (which is why it's been renamed). In an attempt to relearn the characters, and to get myself back into the fandom. **

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><p>One hundred twenty four.<p>

The number sat innocently enough on the paper before him, marking the number of applications that Robinson Industries had received _in that month alone._

He'd made the mistake of bringing his paperwork along with him to his son's Chargeball game. In the hopes that when Wilbur was not on the court, he could at least glance through and fill out some of the red tape Conner had thrown at him. He'd managed to corner Robinson as he'd attempted to get out the door of the office building early that afternoon. Leaving him barely enough time to get home, changed into casual clothing, and out to the high school for Wilbur's play off match.

With a quick glance up, he saw the raven haired boy still on the bench with the other kids his age. Easily recognized with his height and dark hair, Wilbur sat almost directly below where his parents had been able to get seats near the top of the bleachers. Another sharp look towards the time clock confirmed that he had at least fifteen minutes.

Cornelius clicked the pen and started on the top sheet, the blank spaces filling in quickly with his neat, small, script. Halfway down the form, though, his mind began to wander. His attention split three ways, partially on the activities around him, on his paperwork, and now on the seemingly insignificant number.

One hundred twenty four.

_That's how many adoption interviews I've had, one hundred twenty four._

Compared to what he knew now, each and every one had been worth it. To a twelve year old it was devastating, and if he were completely honest with himself, there was still a feeling of unrest that would make itself known when he least expected.

_Why_ was he left? What was her _name_? When was his _true birthday_?

He'd had his chance though, and he'd never go back on that. Cornelius had watched and let the moment slip by on the orphanage steps. He'd seen the family he would have, the support and love he'd craved all through his childhood. That was a decided future, a known outcome, and if there was anything the inventor could appreciate was a definite conclusion.

That didn't mean he'd never been curious.

He'd never revisited the memory with the scanner, and he had never even considered it once the first time machine had been finished. No, the only reason he'd ever had the chance at all was because of Wilbur.

_We agreed that, if you fixed the time machine, I'd take you back to see your mom._

The thirteen year old had made a huge risk in keeping up his end of the bargain. In saving the future from vengeful AI machines or jilted former roommates, Wilbur had turned right around and (unknowingly?) given him the choice to abandon his future family, abandon _him_, and attempt to meet his true mother and convince her to keep him.

Wilbur had never spoken much of those events, they'd both lived them so there was little that needed clarified between father and son. They'd been close before the 'Time Machine Incident' and it seemed that after the fact nothing had changed, if only for a better understanding of things on Wilbur's part.

Robinson had never gone into detail on the fact that he and his parents were not _blood relatives_ as Wilbur was growing up. Only that, yes he'd been adopted, yes he'd lived in an orphanage, no that didn't mean they were different from other families, but nothing really further than that.

It was a sharp contrast, he realized, to the outburst his twelve year old self had made in the time machine to a (for once) hesitant and uncomfortable looking, Wilbur Robinson. He suddenly remembered the wary look the boy had given him on more than one occasion during that incident. Knowing exactly who he was speaking to, while he himself had no idea who Wilbur was at the time. Exclaiming to the (then) older boy that he wouldn't understand because he had a family, that he most likely had always gotten anything he ever wanted. While Lewis had gotten one hundred and twenty four interviews with no happy ending.

Wilbur _had_ been given anything he wanted, though not in the sense that the boy would become entitled. Cornelius had given his son everything he'd wished he'd had for twelve years and made sure that the teen had never known what it was like to feel unwanted. He knew Wilbur did not take their status for granted, that it did not give him any special position over anyone else, and that he was expected to work hard for anything he wanted to achieve.

He liked to think that Wilbur taking him back to the orphanage that night proved it. That, even if it had been unknowingly, he'd risked his existence for a chance to make his friend happy.

_A deal's a deal._

If he hadn't gone back to the time machine when he had-...

Cornelius jumped at the sound of the buzzer in the gymnasium and his wife grabbing his arm just above the elbow. He blinked rapidly, bringing his eyes into focus as her voice cut through the cheers of other parents surrounding them.

"There he goes! Look!"

He looked down to the court to see Wilbur jogging easily out to his position while adjusting his glove. Setting the clipboard beside his feet, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Listening intently as the volunteering teacher announced the new players on the field, though the sound system was in need of updating. He leaned towards Franny while still watching the figures on the court.

"What did they say?"

His wife's beaming smile caused a smile to spread over his features as well.

"Wilbur's one of the top ranking players in all hundred and twenty four students playing!"

He blinked, looking away from the court and toward her.

"How many?"

"One hundred twenty four..."

He smiled and looked back down toward the figure of his son, who was giving the ready signal to start the match.

"Well how about that..."

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><p><strong>Please let me know what you think, I'd forgotten how much I love writing and would love to hear what others think of it!<strong>


	3. Future Historian

**Author's Note: I'm enjoying my little oneshots, I hope everyone reading them is as well. I've really been brain storming a lot lately and these little scenes find their way here.**

**This one's a little different for me (and much shorter) tell me what you think!**

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><p><em>"the new teacher?"<em>

_"OMG so hot!"_

_"y didn't i take ap hist?"_

_"bc u said it was lame"_

_"i bet it isn't now!"_

The seventeen year old senior of Midtown High School stared at the now blank screen of her smartphone. She'd just been typing her response to Jessica when the screen turned black. Frowning, she tried the home button, then the power button, pouting when neither worked. Looking up as the late bell rang, she slid the device into her designer backpack and flipped her curled hair back over her shoulder.

The room was filled with chatter of students as they dug through their back to school paperwork, the first day back was never that interesting, with every teacher giving the same speech. Halfway through the day, the Midtown seniors were growing restless.

"This will be the only day I say this," the new AP American History teacher spoke while holding the door open, looking into the hall as straggling kids made their way into the room.

"Be here before the bell, if not you'll need to have a pass or you won't be allowed through the door. If you're going to be late without reason, you might as well not come at all."

_Ok, maybe he wasn't so cool... _

When the last of the students were finally settled, the door was closed and the newly hired instructor took a moment to survey the fifth group of faces he'd met so far today.

"First, I want to say welcome back." He started while leaning back against the desk to the side of the room, crossing his arms and then resting one ankle over the other. The lights of the classroom dimmed as he turned on the smartboard at the front of the room with his handheld remote. His dark hair, slicked back, gave him a professional and more mature air than his twenty five years would usually suggest.

"You've heard the same things all morning so I'll be quick-" He tapped the laptop beside him and waited for it to come out of hibernation, watching the students' attention shifting to the smartboard as he introduced himself, very briefly went over what his policies were, and what he expected from high school seniors taking an AP course for college credits.

Just as he was wrapping it up, planning on just opening the room to discussion, a student in the back raised their hand.

"Yes- uh...?"

"Jeff, sir."

"Ugh, please don't use 'sir'." He immediately replied, receiving a chorus of soft laughter from the teens. All the teachers were close to retiring and demanded such respect from the students, while rarely returning it.

"Sir makes me feel old."

"Si-...sorry." The boy amended. "But why don't any of our phones work?"

"Excellent question."

A conspiratorial, and nearly smug, grin crossed the instructor's face. Pulling out his own phone, a few of the students were surprised to see the dark blue, teal and yellow phone case. This was a _young _teacher, he had the latest phone, with a decidedly colorful or almost adolescent looking case when compared to other staff in the building. He knew how to use the school's technology without making them wait for fifteen minutes. Now in comparison, the rest of the teachers here were so _dull,_ and he hadn't even really done anything yet.

He was also probably the only teacher that smiled, not just grin but a true smile. Brown eyes squinting slightly as he held up his own phone for the class to see, perfect teeth on display as if he were actually _enjoying himself._

"Do we need our phones to work?"

He was met with a chorus of 'yeses' and waved his hand to cut the students off.

"No, in this room? You don't need to use your phone, you don't need to be texting, you don't need to play games. You signed up for an AP course, not to check your email. Lunch is in the next period, you can do so then."

"But how are they shut off?"

The young man raised both brows while reaching for what looked like a very small remote beside the computer on his desk. With a quick gesture toward the smartboard and a click of a button, the phone's all sprang back to life.

As a few of the students tried to log into accounts as quickly as possible, he flipped the device back on quickly. Collective groans filled the room.

Ok, so he was cool but he was still a _teacher_.

The rest of the class period was an open discussion, the students explaining why they had applied for the course and what they hoped to learn that year. The forty-five minute time slot ended quickly and the students gathered their things to leave for lunch when the bell sounded over the intercom.

Flipping the device back off, he grabbed his phone and went through his contacts quickly. He held the phone to his ear while looking around the now silent room. His call must have been expected, the voice on the other end answering quickly.

"Will?"

"Hey, dad." The smile was obvious in his voice.

"Should you really be calling? I did develop that transmission interceptor for..."

"I know, it works perfectly, thanks, but it's my lunch block so I've got at least half an hour."

Instead of going to the teacher's lounge, Wilbur sat at his desk and pulled the packed lunch out of the bottom desk drawer, staying on the phone with his father and explaining how his day had been going, and how he'd been received by the staff. He listened to the happenings at RI, interjecting with comments here and there.

Every few moments he would glance up at the still lit smartboard, grinning faintly at the scrawled_ Mr. Robinson_ he'd written across it that morning.


	4. Artificial

**Author's Note: So I'm _really _having fun here, these might not exactly be masterpieces, but hey, I'm getting back into things. This one's a shorty.**

**Also, guess what I've been working on? I'll finally have a _nice _computer before the end of November.**

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><p>"Daddy, who is that?"<p>

"This is Carl."

He remembers being shut down, never questioning his creator and trusting the young man when he told him he'd be reactivated again soon. The twenty three year old explaining to his newly functioning processors that his programming needed quite a bit of tweaking. He was still working through the prototype stages and it may be a long time before he was fully functional.

Seven years to be exact, before he became the machine that Lewis had met at the age of twelve.

Carl had immediately noticed the upgrades, his computing process much clearer, memory banks larger, and he was now a flashy gold instead of dull pewter. The limbs needed some warming up, having not been used in so many years, his motions were not as fluid as they would one day be. It was because of this, that a small child was watching him warily from behind Mr. Robinson's legs.

"Carl?" Brown eyes looked up curiously between the two. Human and humanoid. The boy was nudged forward gently.

"That's right, introduce yourself."

Blue LEDs blinked down at the child as he stepped forward, and long golden legs folded as he maneuvered himself to eye level. A delicate (humans are so fragile) and pale hand was held toward him, becoming dwarfed within the cold, harsh, metal fingers of his own.

"Hey, little buddy. What's your name?"

"Wilbur."

"Would you like to be friends Wilbur?"

The miniature human craned his head around to look at his father briefly before turning back toward him and nodding, warming up slowly to the artificial being.

Eight hours later and he was wondering what he'd done to deserve this.

"Carl look!"

It had taken five minutes, four seconds for the little Robinson to claim that Carl was now his newest best friend and therefor would do everything with him. While giving him a tour and then showing him all his things, the AI instrument used the time to memorize the smallest details of his little charge. Maybe it was his programming, or a sudden synthetic sense of loyalty, but he felt the need to protect the one thing his creator could not replace with parts or upgrade with new materials.

A few nuts and bolts wouldn't reattach an arm if it was lost, there was no setting restore points in an organic computing system.

He watched the little being flit around from one place to another, chirping a delighted comment here and there before returning back to Carl, handing him any random item before taking off again.

His new processors were quickly learning and adapting to this little boy, the AI would eventually develop it's own personality, but for the time being was very emotionless. Calculating and cold as any machine was considered, everything was a math equation converted into complicated programing HTML or C++ to imitate human life.

It was because of the sophistication of this programming, that the two functioned in relatively the same way. While he used a computer, the human used organic brain power. The optic receptors sent messages to the computer (brain) and from there the message was sent to the rest of the system (body) as how and where to move.

While his was without error, the mathematics and computer processor never failing. This didn't seem to be the case when it came to humans. Stretching out one lanky arm, he scooped up the boy that had tripped over the misplaced toy, relieved (artificially or truthfully?) to see no signs of injury other than a bruised ego. Could a five year old have an ego large enough to bruise?

Apparently.

It didn't last long though, because Wilbur was suddenly sitting over his shoulders, (how he'd gotten there was still being analyzed) and was inspecting the gold cranium and drilling him with questions.

"How can you hear me? I don't see any ears. What's it like to not have ears? Can you feel this? You're all cold, can you feel that? How tall can you go?"

The robot spun his head around, effectively shutting the child up, looking at the backwards face with wide eyes.

That lasted all of two seconds.

"Now you're like grandad!" Came the delighted shriek.

"Do you ever calm down?"

"I dunno..."

"Are all humans this energetic?"

"I...dunno..." He would have expected the child's enthusiasm to deflate with that, but instead he only shrugged his narrow shoulders, still watching the mechanical being with large eyes and expecting him to have the answer.

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><p>Ten years later, and the same eyes were imploring him for an answer. The usual enthusiasm had been ripped from the boy's movements, leaving a somber and nearly terrified look in the dark eyes searching his own artificial ones.<p>

This was a question his processors could not compute, and not having an answer broke his nonexistent heart.

To see Wilbur Robinson in such a state left his circuits numb. In the weeks following the events outside the USR office buildings, he'd watched as fear, confusion, and frustration crept into the family.

"Why would someone do this, Carl?"

His processor continued to run numbers, took the variables and reworked the algorithm over and over, but the end result was always the same.

_ No results available_

How to explain that to a human? To _this_ human? Who has never offered a question to the AI without receiving an answer in return.

"I...I don't know Little Buddy."


	5. The First Late Night Discussion

**AN: This is part of a request I received from Universe Creator. I was given two ideas that I liked so much I started this as soon as I got home from work and am working on the second right now.**

**Please let me know what you think. I can't improve without critique :)**

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><p>The green light on the baby monitor lit slowly, casting a faint glow over the nightstand it was positioned on. Soft fussing sounds began to transmit through the speaker.<p>

After a few moments, Franny shifted and opened her eyes blearily. No one had told them it would be like this. Of course they'd expected sleepless nights, but not _this_ _many_ sleepless nights. They had learned quickly, though, that not all sound from an infant meant they were in distress. She waited in silence to see if this would turn into cries, or if the newborn was amusing himself.

No such luck.

She sat up slowly, barely awake as the crying on the monitor became more demanding. She went to throw the blankets back but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

"I've got him. Go back to sleep."

Franny looked up to meet her husband's eyes. Still dressed, and while appearing fatigued himself, was much more alert than she could hope to be at this hour.

"Haven't you slept at all?" She murmured, as if the monitor could pick them up, and the child on the other end would hear them.

"Was just about to." He replied in the same tone, leaning forward to give his wife a quick kiss before standing at his full height. "But he's got other ideas."

Sure that she wouldn't try to fight him over who's turn it was, Cornelius reached over and turned the monitor off before stepping out of the room. He covered the short distance in a few quick strides, speaking softly to the crying child as soon as he was in the room.

"Hey now, just why are we exercising the lungs so forcefully at three AM?"

No one would have recognized this as Cornelius Robinson. The lilting, gentle and comforting tone reserved specifically for the only other being in the room.

The wailing subsided only slightly, the words obviously not being understood but the voice recognized. When he finally reached the cribside, the sight that greeted him was a tiny tear streaked face, beet red with his excess efforts.

"Come here, Wilbur." He whispered while scooping the infant up.

There were only so many reasons for an infant to cry, and through process of elimination, Cornelius had narrowed it down to hunger. While waiting for the formula to heat, he shushed and rocked the child in his arms. Wilbur's whole hearted cries had softened to whimpers by now, and Cornelius used the pad of his thumb to dry beneath his son's clear brown eyes.

"Attention seeking already, hmm?"

He got an infant's equivalent of a huff in response.

"That's what I thought."

Holding his son easily in one arm, and shaking the bottle with the other, he made his way back to the nursery. Turning the lamp on, he sat in one of the corner chairs.

"No one mentions what little gluttons you babies are."

Narrowed brown eyes watched him as Wilbur's needs were finally being met, and Cornelius had to remind himself that this was _newborn_ Wilbur, not headstrong, self confident _teenage_ Wilbur. He didn't know what his father was saying, so this expression wasn't in reaction to him.

It was hard to differentiate already.

"Well now that you're here...I should start working on Carl again shouldn't I?"

He was answered only by the soft sounds his son made in contentment while eating, little fingers on one hand wrapped around his father's thumb, the other playing with his own hair.

Cornelius fell silent and studied the boy, marveling at each little detail from eyebrow to fingernails. He ran his own fingers over the infant's brow, brushing the downy soft hair back carefully. The cowlick wasn't present yet, but the evidence in the wisp of curl he saw was enough for now.

He watched as the child's eyes would drift shut and quickly snap back open, looking up at his father as if he'd been caught red handed at something. Soon, though, his eyes would drift shut again.

Cornelius could appreciate that, he'd been working all evening on stacks of paperwork from RI. He'd had it faxed from the office while he stayed with Franny and spent the first crucial months of his son's life at home. He'd started shortly after dinner, going cross-eyed sometime around one AM and forced himself to continue until he began to see light at the end of the tunnel. Yawning, he caught himself allowing his own eyes to close for a few moments, slouching a bit in the chair to get more comfortable without disrupting Wilbur.

He woke with a start, panicked, thinking he'd been asleep for hours. Looking down, he met the equally startled expression on Wilbur's face, round eyes staring up at him while the nearly empty bottle had dropped forgotten into Cornelius' lap.

A small chuckle escaped him, not seeing so much expression in Wilbur until now.

"Scared you, didn't I?" He murmured with a faint grin.

As if he'd been waiting on an affirmation that it was alright, Wilbur uttered a happy sound, feet kicking and a smile appearing on his tiny features.

This caused Cornelius to pause, blinking a few times and finally smiling fully himself. A huff of amazement and paternal pride leaving him in a rush. Experimentally, and not sure he'd get a response, he reached down and placed his palm on Wilbur's belly, tickling the child, astounded that his hand covered the boy's entire abdomen.

A fit of giggles filled the room, the smile returning fully as Wilbur squirmed in his arms, the sound eventually dying slowly when he finally stopped to let the boy breathe.

He leaned forward and kissed the boy's forehead before positioning him against his shoulder, standing and rocking from side to side as Wilbur yawned and rubbed his eyes. Humming softly, he felt the tiny body cuddle into his shoulder. A whispered voice caught his attention as he reached for the blanket in the crib to wrap around Wilbur.

"Is he ok?"

He spun and watched Franny in the doorway. "Yeah, why?"

"You've been in here over an hour."

Cornelius blinked a few times and looked toward the clock. "Hm, I suppose I have."

She stepped into the room to stand before him, moving the blanket to see their son's face better.

"Happy and asleep I see."

Cornelius smiled, finally returning Wilbur to his crib. "Enjoy it now, this peace won't last long. In a few years we'll be kept on our toes, I'm sure."

"What makes you say that?" She asked in sleepy curiosity, linking her arm with his as they left the room, intent on getting some well deserved sleep. He grinned down at her with a knowing look.

"Just a feeling, I guess."


	6. Keep Moving Forward

**AN: Second part of the request, started, stopped, wrote and rewrote. Hope I did it justice. I thought the original idea was a cute scene.**

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><p>"Wilbur, honey-!"<p>

Franny caught the boy under the arms just as he would have tipped backwards off the chair. Arms stretched out and tiny sneaker clad feet still peddling as she pulled him away.

"I wanna help you, can I help, please?"

He looked up at her hopefully. When no answer was forthcoming, the four year old hung limply in his mother's arms. Wilbur sat looking forlornly at all the fun things he could be helping with for the big dinner party she'd been talking about since _forever_.

He wriggled out of her grasp but she caught him by the arm before he could gain any ground.

"Honey, I would love your help but there's grown up things here. Mommy's using sharp knives and the oven."

"I'll be careful- promise..."

They made a comical sight, Wilbur leaning out as far as he could, only remaining upright because of the grip his mother had on his arm. The two watched each other in a standoff, until finally Franny reached out with her other hand and hoisted him onto her hip.

Cornelius found them half an hour later, Wilbur siting on the counter and swinging his legs in boredom. He huffed and sighed every time he couldn't do something he wanted.

"How's the party planning coming along?"

He was met with two pair of dark eyes glowering at him, scowling in nearly the same exact fashion.

"Your son needs something to do."

"Mommy won't let me help!"

Both statements were said at once. Franny looked like she was at the end of her rope, while Wilbur jutted his chin forward in a worryingly familiar expression the inventor remembered seeing on a certain thirteen year old.

Cornelius rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, looking toward his wife. The parents came to a silent agreement before he spoke to their son.

"Why don't we go for a walk, Wilbur?"

He'd barely gotten the question out before Wilbur launched himself from the counter, surprising both parents as they protested in unison. The boy landed in a crouch and sprang back up, racing for the door without paying them any mind. He did at least wait patiently as he was bundled up. Cornelius zipped the light jacket and pulled the stocking cap over his son's cowlick, tweaking the boy's nose playfully before donning a jacket of his own and leading them out the door.

The autumn air was crisp, he could already feel it nipping at his cheeks and tops of his ears as the breeze scattered leaves about. The rustling sounds broken by Wilbur's voice.

"Where're we going?"

"Where ever we feel like." He grinned, looking down and holding his hand out for Wilbur to take. The child doing so without question as they left the Robinson property.

He listened to Wilbur chatter idly, slowing his pace for the child's much smaller stride. This wasn't working well for the pair, though, and before long he came to a stop at one of the many corners in town. Wilbur's voice trailed off into confused silence, and he looked up with questioning eyes.

Taking in the pink cheeks and nose, Cornelius reached for the boy, knowing the answer before he voiced the question.

"Want me to carry you?"

The boy nodded, lifting his arms and grinning with a hum of affirmation. It turned into a surprised shriek and giggling when Cornelius grabbed him around the middle and flipped him over his shoulder.

"No! Not like this, I can't see!"

"You don't need to see!"

"Yeah I do." The preschooler countered, tiny hands braced against his father's back as he hung upside down.

Cornelius sighed, as if the topic were truly up for debate.

"Alright, fine."

He sat the boy on his shoulders, holding both miniature feet to keep Wilbur from falling. The duo fell silent for a few blocks as they adjusted to this new pace, Robinson's long legs covering distance much faster than they had been previously. He felt Wilbur's little arms snake around his neck as the boy rested his head against the side of his own. His blond hair made it impossible for the child to rest his chin on the top of his head the way other children did with their fathers, so the four year old improvised.

"Daddy?"

The higher pitched tones of his son's voice always surprised him, even though he'd been talking for a few years now. When he'd first learned he was going to be a father, Cornelius had immediately pictured the teenager he'd met years ago. A self assured, boisterous, and imaginative young man, who's voice was so very different than the one he heard now. Cornelius ruminated on this for a few moments, almost forgetting that Wilbur had been trying to gain his attention. He blinked a few times, returning to the present.

"Daddy?"

"What-y?"

Wilbur briefly released his hold on his father to point out ahead of them and to the right.

"Is that your work?"

"Yes it is. Do you know what that letter is?"

There was a pause, and he noted mentally while waiting for a response, how warm his ear was on that side with Wilbur's cheek pressed so firmly against it.

"R."

"Very good, do you know what it stands for?"

The four year old rolled the sound of the letter off his tongue as he held it out in thought.

"Rrrrobinson?"

"Exactly." He answered with obvious pride, turning his head so he could just barely make out the boy in his peripheral vision. Wilbur had pushed the stocking cap back off his forehead, always proclaiming that it was _too itchy_. His attention was still focused on the Robinson office building, allowing Cornelius a rare chance to see him so still.

"You make stuff there."

He chuckled softly, because the boy wasn't wrong. It just sounded so lackluster when said in such a way. Wilbur's tone had even sounded unenthused.

"I do."

"Does anything ever _blow up_?" He became animated suddenly at the prospect of seeing something explode, and Cornelius had to reach up and loosen the hold Wilbur had tightened around his neck. Tugging at the boy's hands lightly until he let go again.

"Sometimes they do, so we start over."

"_All_ over?" Wilbur asked, scandalized. He leaned around to see his father's face, eyes wide as he looked at Cornelius as if he had lost his mind.

"Yes, _all_ over." The blond smiled. "If we really want it to succeed, we go back to fix the mistakes and-"

"Keep moving forward." Wilbur chirped.

Cornelius paused before he nodded and grinned widely, after a moment he tilted his head in an attempt to see the boy again.

"Do you know what that means?"

"Um-" It was obvious he didn't want to say 'no', but could only reply with, "You say it a lot..."

"I do, it's important to know." He simplified it for a younger mind. "Sometimes bad things happen, but we can't let it bother us for too long. We have to let it go, and keep moving forward."

His statement was followed by silence, neither of the two speaking for a few moments, and Cornelius wasn't sure a child so young would understand the full meaning of the phrase he'd been following for years now.

"That's really smart..." Wilbur finally commented, returning to his chipper, youthful tone. "How'd you learn it?"

"Well, a very good friend explained it to me." Cornelius replied while looking out across the city and glancing up again.

"Your best friend?"

A broad smile crossed the inventor's features at the innocent assumption, and he squeezed the boy's ankles gently, and affectionately, with his fingers.

"My very best friend."

The breeze had been growing stronger through their stroll and Cornelius felt a few tell tale shakes from the boy perched on his shoulders. He knew, though, that he'd never get a confession from Wilbur stating he was cold. So to avoid any complaints from his son, the inventor started back toward home without a word. To his surprise it was a quiet trip back, and he felt Wilbur let go of him to pull the cap back down low over his brow.

"Daddy?"

"Hm?"

He felt the boy rest his head against him again.

"Love you."

Cornelius reached up and took one of Wilbur's small hands as they returned home.

"I love you too."


	7. Late Night Dealings

**AN: So I try to flesh out ideas that are mentioned to me, and I hope I don't disappoint.** **I hope these get the main ideas across that the requesters have in mind when they comment. Let me know, thanks!**

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><p>"Woah-! I am not crazy!"<p>

Cornelius stopped short in the hall and listened to two conspiratorial voices in the kitchen. Words of any kind were barely discernible through the laughter but he knew that voice anywhere.

He'd also heard that comment before.

It was half past midnight, on a Friday, which explained why the youngest Robinson was still up and about the house. Adam Conner had been invited over for the night and the two boys had obviously not been entertained with whatever Wilbur had in his room. So apparently they'd decided to go on some late night excursion.

"No- nonononono-!" Both preteen voices fought through side splitting laughter, making valiant attempts to keep from being heard by the rest of the household.

Cornelius peeked around the corner to see just what was so exciting to a few adolescent boys. He stopped short and blinked, staring at the intricate arrangement of kitchen utensils stacked on the counter nearly reaching the ceiling. A barefoot, wiry, raven haired boy stood beside the abstract sculpture, reaching up as high as he could to add a spatula in just the right place.

There were two ways he could handle this, and each side of the argument countered the other internally while he went undetected by the children in the kitchen. He idly took in his son's figure climbing off the counter in search of more materials.

Lewis found the goings on rather amusing, to be honest, _Cornelius_ did also, but while the grown man admired the ingenuity of the balancing act before him, he couldn't exactly ignore the fact that his son was standing on their counters, stacking _knives_/plates/small appliances/etcetera.

The inner child that still remembered being thrown from a rooftop by the boy in question almost wanted to join in.

Almost.

He couldn't hear what they were saying, but could tell by the body language of each that Wilbur was much more excited over this than the other boy. While still laughing, Adam almost looked intimidated as he watched the older boy warily. Cornelius could appreciate that, being on the receiving end of that whirlwind at twelve had been rather daunting.

Through his son's childhood he'd made sure to note on specific mannerisms, phrases and expressions that he'd always known the boy would develop, but had never known _when_ they would develop. The first time he repeated 'keep moving forward', when he'd apparently decided that Converse were the only sneakers worth having, the fact that he had _always_ used his hands when he spoke or how expressive his eyes were.

Recently he'd been having a harder and harder time keeping his mouth shut when Wilbur would do or say something that reminded him of_ the incident_. As their lives caught up to the events he knew would eventually take place, he knew there were a few times he'd slipped up.

Wilbur had been venting over a bad Chargeball match, huffing while throwing his bag to the side and gesturing wildly.

"I messed up-"

_"-and I've tried like crazy to fix things-"_

He hadn't listened to the rest, mentally transported back to the petrifying moments before he'd repaired the time machine. Cornelius had spun around to face his son and grabbed his arm, then mentally chastised himself when he realized he had stunned Wilbur into silence. The boy had blinked up at him a few times, wondering what he'd said or done wrong. He'd caught himself repeating silently that Wilbur wasn't going to disappear, everything was going to be fine.

His thirteenth birthday was next week.

He didn't know exactly when _the incident_ was, but any business trip between now and next year could be _it_.

He wasn't sure if he was anticipating it, or dreading it.

Now wasn't exactly the time to be hashing this out, though.

Sometime during his internal ruminations, Wilbur had scaled the counters again, a pile of cookware at his feet. The nearly thirteen year old looked over the tower with a critical eye and went to reach for something.

That was when the father and disciplinarian won over.

All he had to do was make his presence known, stepping through the doorway and clearing his throat loudly. Wilbur halted in place, hand raised to place the pan at just the right angle, and then flinched to the side and covered his head as the precariously balanced structure buckled and collapsed. The deafening sound of kitchenware hitting the floor drowned out the protests of the boys, seeing their hard work ruined.

Well it was more Wilbur protesting than Adam.

The other boy in the room had turned a deadly shade of white, and when the elder Robinson's eyes fell on him he resembled a deer in the headlights, stuttering.

"Mr. Robinson...uh-"

"Good night, Adam."

The boy took that as his cue to run, and nearly did so, disappearing down the hallway to Wilbur's room.

Cornelius turned back to face his son, who stood with one foot stretched out with the intention to stop a rolling plate from getting away from him. The last of the rattling pots and pan lids echoed through the kitchen as the boy knelt to clean up the mess around himself.

"Hey, dad..."

The look on Wilbur's face spoke volumes, he knew he was in trouble, and he knew he had no argument. The boy continued cleaning without looking up, while Cornelius stood in the doorway a few moments and allowed the tension to stretch.

"Will."

"Yeah?"

"Why _kitchen utensils_?"

The boy stopped and looked up in surprise, obviously not having expected that at all. Opening a drawer to return items to their rightful place, he shrugged with one shoulder, still expecting the lecture sequence to follow at any given moment.

Cornelius finally moved to help clear the wreckage. For as much as there was scattered about, it didn't take long to put away. A sudden thought occurred to him.

"Where's Carl?"

"Uh-" Wilbur started, "About that-"

_"one of the time machines is broken, and the other one was-" _

Cornelius blinked, forcing himself to listen to what was _really_ being said.

"-so Adam and I decided that we'd-...are you even listening?"

"Of course I am."

He was met with a raised brow and expression that begged to differ before Wilbur shook his head and collected the last of the fallen items and put them away.

"Where'd you say Carl was?"

"Ha!" The boy held an accusing finger up. " I knew you weren't listening."

"Why don't we make a deal." He countered, not willing to admit he hadn't heard a word of what Wilbur had said. Experience told him what had happened to the hapless AI anyway. His son looked at him expectantly.

"You didn't see me, I didn't see you."

Wilbur understood immediately. His father had claimed he'd be done early tonight, which obviously hadn't gone as planned, since he'd just been getting home when he'd caught the adventures in the kitchen.

Wilbur couldn't refuse that. "Deal."

"With one condition." He crossed his arms and cut off the oncoming protest. "I don't _ever_ want to see you standing on these counters again." His tone had become parental then, unable to let the event completely slide by unnoticed. The unspoken part being _don't ever do something like that again_.

This paled in comparison to what would be happening within the next year, but that would be dealt with after the fact.

Wilbur finally nodded in acquiescence to the terms of their deal. His father patting him on the back as he passed into the hall.

"Good night, Wilbur."

"Night, dad."

He couldn't help but overhear the morse code against one of the hall doors, and the murmured tone his son spoke in on the way to his room.

"You don't have to hide in the closet, Carl. No one's getting blamed for anything."


	8. After 'The Incident'

**AN: Sooooo, another one I wanted to flesh out after seeing it, but not sure it turned out how I wanted. I get writing sometimes and it goes a completely different direction than I expect lol And since these are oneshots, I'm too lazy to go back and redo them.**

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><p>It had finally happened.<p>

Time had caught up to itself, the Robinson family had just returned to the house after seeing the two boys off in the time machine.

Cornelius pulled folded shirts from the luggage set and separated out the clean from what needed laundered. Not that he didn't appreciate it, but Franny always sent him with nearly twice the amount of clothing he needed. He glanced up to the side every few moments, where Franny was standing at the window. Going back to the task before him, he finally broke the silence.

"You ok?"

"That was _you_." She spun around, looking at him incredulously. Obviously keyed up. The room fell silent as the blond continued with his monotonous chore.

"So you're not ok."

"_No_, I'm not ok." She replied in a strained tone. "My son and his friend are nearly-," she couldn't say it. "Then I find out it's _you_!"

"Hey, I'm right here. I'm fine-" He stated softly, but she cut him off. She wasn't ready to calm down, not after that shock.

"We could have lost you _both_, Cornelius. If anything else had happened-"

"But it didn't, Fran. I'm right here, in one piece, and Wilbur should be returning the time machine to the garage at any moment."

That opened Pandora's box.

"He _lied_ to you? Why aren't-" She paused and finally took a moment to consider her husband, meeting his eyes with realization.

"You knew, you've always known." Her tone was questioning but her expression was anything but, watching him accusingly.

"I did."

"Then why-"

"I couldn't tell anyone, Franny. I always knew it would be alright, I had seen it after all. Would it have ended the same way if I had told you? Should I have risked it?"

She understood his thinking, but the whole ordeal had left her rattled.

"It was all because of the scanner."

"Scanner?" She questioned.

"Memory scanner, science fair." The inventor replied with a faint grin. "Remember?"

Her brows knit together in thought and he watched as the pieces fell into place.

"That was him, with the frogs..."

"Mm-hm." He replied, distracted, inspecting the darkened bruise under his wife's hairline. Brushing his thumb over the discolored skin gently, his eyes finally focused on hers.

"Dad was right."

"What?" That was the last thing she'd expected him to say.

"Oh, twenty some years ago, for me," he clarified. "I was told I'd like you."

A smile finally crossed her features and she tilted her head.

"Do you like me, Mr. Robinson?"

"I like you very much, Mrs. Robinson."

He gave her a quick kiss before stepping around her, commenting from the doorway. "Will should be back by now, does the life sentence still stand?"

"For now."

Carl's voice filled the dimly lit garage as Wilbur climbed down slowly from the hatch of the time machine. The teenager only shot him a look now and then while double checking the vehicle before them. Cornelius didn't hear what the AI stated, but there was no missing the sharp tone, affronted posture and expression Wilbur was sporting.

"Look, I'm the one that literally _didn't exist_ for who knows how long. At least you were still _here_!"

A pause, Carl must have spoken again.

"Yeah well I get it, ok, and I'll have _lots_ of time to think about it."

"Wilbur."

Both teenager and AI flinched at the sound of his voice, Carl inching away as Cornelius approached the time machine.

"Uh...hey."

"Eventful day huh?" He looked over the time machine, putting his hands in his pockets. It was a little strange, the nonchalant air he spoke in now, when speaking to a younger version of himself had bordered the line of formal.

Wilbur watched him warily, unable to read his father's expression.

"Pretty neat trick there, after dropping me off."

The teen's brows lowered, needing to catch up to his father's train of thought. "Wh-"

"The writing, 'See you later'."

"Oh!" The boy nodded, but stopped abruptly and looked up toward his father sharply.

Odd, fifteen minutes ago he'd been looking down at him.

Cornelius finally looked away from the prototype in front of him and toward his son, seeing him come to the same conclusion his wife had.

"So, does this mean I'm not grounded till I die?"

He chuckled at that, "I think the one who issued that sentence is the only one who can take it away."

Wilbur's shoulders slumped at that and he had to add, "I'll be sure to put in a good word."

The teenager turned to head for the house, making it halfway to the door he'd failed to lock when Cornelius called out to him, causing him to turn and look back toward the man with questioning eyes. Before he knew it, he was trapped in a crushing embrace.

"There are at least a dozen reasons I could be upset right now." Cornelius stood back and held the boy at arms length, his voice tight as he continued. He looked the boy in the eye, who stared back in shock.

"The _only_ reason, though, when all is said and done, is the danger that _you_ were in." He rested one hand on the back of the boy's head, needing physical proof he was alive, and there, and _whole_.

"What would we do without you?"

"Not worry about the space-time continuum?" It was a poor attempt at levity, and Cornelius only thumped him encouragingly on the back with one hand.

"I missed you, Will."

The teen looked up questioningly as they left the garage, and Cornelius couldn't hide the smirk when he turned his attention away briefly to double check the door. He clarified as Wilbur caught up to him, and the teen smiled broadly at his statement.

"It's been some time since I could speak openly with my best friend."


	9. Mr Popular

**AN: Might be the last one for a while, with all the little oneshots out and 'on paper' so to speak, I'll be working on Racing Time.**

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><p>Wilbur Robinson was not a popular kid.<p>

Not that he was disliked or bullied, he just didn't fit the stereotypical sense of the word. He didn't play _football_, he never went to the _good_ parties, and sometimes he even talked to the _weird_ kids.

No, not popular material at all.

At least that's what Ashley Hampton and her friends thought. A group of students sat in the back corner of the classroom, not having done any work in the fifteen minutes they'd been given during the class period. It was Friday, and making sure they had the after game party planned was more important than chemistry.

"Robinson are you coming this time? Or you gunna ditch like always?"

"I'm busy this weekend." The teen in question answered distractedly while working on one of the problems on the practice sheet.

"I told you." Ashley huffed to the football player that had originally asked, flipping her hair when they received a warning from the teacher.

"H2O is, like, water right?" The other jock commented idly.

"I'm assuming that's a joke." Wilbur cut in as he put together the correct magnets to display the compound makeup, mentally cursing the teacher for the fifth time in half an hour for deciding they would work in groups.

"No I really didn't know." The jersey clad boy laughed as he filled in the blank space on the sheet.

"What's so important you can't come to the party of the _year_? Everyone's going to be there." The other cheerleader of the group continued, as if there wasn't class work to be done in front of them.

"I'm not going to be around." Wilbur shrugged, leaning back in his chair and putting his pencil down.

"Aren't you going to that conference with your parents?" Adam supplied sheepishly from his other side. The 'popular' kids terrified him, but when Wilbur was around, there was enough of a buffer that he wasn't completely mute.

"Oh." Ashley drawled out. "Should we tune in to Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous?"

"MTV isn't really our style, Ashley." Wilbur said condescendingly. "But I doubt you know how to sound out a word like 'Discovery'."

"Ohhhhh." The jocks began to laugh, a low comment of 'want some ice for that burn?' was heard from somewhere, and the students within earshot all looked toward the verbal sparring, waiting for a response from the red faced cheerleader.

"I'd rather go to the party anyway." She replied in a catty tone.

Wilbur won that round.

The teacher finally stood from behind her desk, warning the students that if they didn't quiet down and get to work, the whole group would be kept after the bell rang. This tactic finally succeeded, because all that stood between them and freedom was a short twenty minutes. The pep rally was going to be held outside in the stadium, meaning all students were dismissed from their last two classes. It was smooth sailing from here on out.

_No one _could miss that, that would be _social suicide_. So who was leaving early?

Wilbur Robinson.

Once they'd reviewed and gone over the answers, the class was permitted to have the rest of the period to themselves. The topic of conversation around them, of course, immediately returned to the game.

Adam zipped up his backpack and crossed his arms over the bag, watching Wilbur organize his own belongings. "When are you leaving?"

"As soon as the bell rings."

"What?" Came a feminine voice from behind them, the cheerleader listening in on the conversation and making a face. "You're missing the pep rally too?"

"Yeah, _and_?" The dark haired boy shrugged his shoulders and gave her an equally nasty look.

Adam watched the girl warily as she joined the clique congregated at the door, looking back toward his friend once he was sure the tension had cleared.

"They don't bother you?"

Wilbur looked dumbfounded, and Adam originally thought it was for effect, except that Wilbur's expression didn't change. He was obviously waiting for the other boy to continue, and when Adam failed to do so, Wilbur attempted to prod him along.

"Why would they?"

"Well, just- you know-"

"No." Wilbur shook his head. "I don't know."

"They make fun of everybody."

The Robinson boy wrinkled his nose and looked over Adam's shoulder toward the kids in question, before returning his gaze to the other teen.

"They're no better than us. Why let them think they are?"

"Because most of us care what others think about us?"

This was a foreign concept to the youngest of the Robinson family, and he stared at the other boy as if he'd grown another head.

For as long as he could remember, Wilbur had always been encouraged to be his own person. No interest was unimportant, no question too silly to ask. Everyone had their own interests and talents and that's what made them unique. It's what made you, _you_.

"Well...you shouldn't."

It was as easy as that to him, and as the bell rang and the students moved out of the room in a herd, Adam resigned himself to the fact that for as smart as his friend was, this was a subject he would never comprehend.

"Have fun at the conference."

Robinson shouldered his backpack, clicking his tongue as he made a sarcastic gesture with his hands. "And you have fun at that pep rally!"

The two parted ways, waving a quick goodbye as Wilbur pushed the doors of the main entrance open and left the building. Adam shook his head as he headed for the band room for his instrument.

"I have the weirdest friend in the world."


	10. Mommy's boy

**I don't write Franny enough.**

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><p>It was by far the hardest thing she had ever done.<p>

Franny had paced the house all day, trying to keep her mind occupied, but to no avail. She caught herself looking toward the clock in whichever room she found herself in, counting down the hours until she'd see him again.

Her baby had started school today.

She had made sure to pack his favorite lunch, let him help her lay out his new school clothes the night before, and put together the tiny backpack he'd picked out when they had gone school shopping.

The child had been delighted over the thought of his _first day of kindergarten_, chattering away over all the kids he would meet and how he was going to learn everything he could so he could one day be as smart as Mommy and Daddy.

He'd made such an innocent remark when Franny had shown him where she was going to put his lunchbox, she hadn't expected him to become so distraught.

"Mommy, there's not enough for us to share."

He'd looked up at her with large eyes as he snapped the lunchbox to the backpack, trusting his mother to know exactly what to say and have a response he knew both his parents always had to his tough questions.

"Oh, honey, it's only your lunch. I can't go to school with you."

Wilbur had blinked a few times while letting the information sink in, and Franny saw the oncoming tears long before they appeared.

"You're not coming?"

She knelt in front of him and picked up the backpack he had dropped dejectedly onto the floor.

"Grown ups can't go to kindergarten, love, only growing boys and girls."

She tweaked his nose playfully in an attempt to cheer the boy up, but Wilbur was having none of it. His opinion on the matter had drastically changed. The five year old shook his head resolutely, cheeks reddening and eyes watery.

"No, I don't want to. I want to stay here."

His little voice cracked as he spoke, and Franny wanted desperately to agree with him. She'd been dreading this day for weeks, the proof that her little boy was growing up, already in school, no longer her baby.

"Wilbur, it's ok honey. You'll make friends and meet your teacher. Before you know it, you'll be back home."

Still kneeling, Franny was eye to eye with the child. She reached out and wiped away the tears beginning to fall as her son stepped forward and clung to her neck. Wilbur's choked sobs and muffled protests were the only sound in the kitchen, his face hidden against her shoulder as she picked him up. She rubbed his back in an attempt to calm the boy down, and explained to him that this was a normal part of life.

"Sweetheart please calm down, everyone goes to school-"

"No! I don-...I don-...want to..." He took a shuddering breath, barely able to speak through his tears.

"You can't stay here, how will you ever get to be big and smart?"

"You-you...you can-...teach me..." He struggled as the hiccups set in. "You an-...an-...Daddy! P-...please, don'- make me go!"

Franny could only shush the child, concentrating on getting him to calm down before trying to explain to him once more. She rocked side to side until the hiccups subsided and the worst of his protests had faded. Her son might be growing up too soon for her, but for now he was still a child that needed his mother to calm his fears and make everything ok.

He was small for his age. She was sure he'd hit a growth spurt soon, but until then she could hold him against her shoulder, which was where he seemed intent on being at the moment.

"I want to stay with you." He mumbled finally.

"I know, love, but you'll have fun at school."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

He hadn't been thrilled with the idea the next morning either, but there was no tantrum or crying at least. Wilbur had kept a vice grip on his parents' hands as they lead him to his classroom and said goodbye. Franny had at least made it out of the building before she had lost her own battle, smiling sadly at her husband as her own tears had fallen. In recognition and understanding, Cornelius had lifted their joined hands and kissed the back of her hand before driving them home.

So now she waited, counting down to when he'd be home. Would he be upset? Did he have a good day? What were the other kids like?

The commotion that followed the sound of the door informed her that she didn't have long to wait before she found out. Standing, she straightened her dress in an attempt to look like she hadn't been _worrying_ all day.

"Mommy! Look what we did today!"

The whirlwind sped around the counter, sheet of paper held firmly in one small hand. She immediately noticed the grass stained knees of his jeans and made a mental note to ask her husband if he could look into a remedy to that. There would be many years of grass stains, she was sure.

"What did you do today?" She asked excitedly. If he was excited, then it was a good day.

"Mrs. Myers had us make pictures of our favorite things!" He stopped abruptly, a look of concentration taking over as he straightened the crinkled paper out and held it for her to see.

"I asked if I could draw people, instead of things."

There on the wrinkled sheet, was a five year old's interpretation of their family. She studied it carefully as Wilbur's little fingers pointed to each family member.

"...and Uncle Art...Gramma and Grandad...and here's you and Daddy..." His voice trailed off and he looked up in search of approval, smiling widely when she took the artwork from him.

"I love it, honey. It's going to go right here on the fridge."

The boy gave it an admiring look briefly before he was off and running again, depositing his backpack and school shoes where she had shown him that morning. He appeared suddenly around the doorway again with a hand over his mouth to stifle childish giggles.

"This girl in my class named Morgan? She accidentally called Mrs. Myers, Mommy, today!"

Before Franny could respond, Wilbur had disappeared again. She watched the spot he'd last been seen with raised brows, speaking out loud.

"As long as _you_ never call someone else Mommy."


	11. Darkest Day at the Robinson House

**So I'm waiting on my computer. (Next month!) In the meantime, I've penned out the rough plot points for _five_ chapters of Racing Time!** **I might be the only one excited over this, but I've been all over that story for the last three weeks, relearning characters, redrafting ideas I had years ago. (Making them much better I believe) I'm just super thrilled over this, I haven't been this excited to write in years.**

**So this is directly linked with Racing Time, if you haven't read it this may not make sense. The Robinson family gets the news of what's happened to Cornelius. **

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><p>Wilbur was jolted from his much sought after sleep by his mother's frantic voice.<p>

"Wilbur! Wake up, honey! We've got to go-"

Rubbing his eyes groggily, the raven haired boy rolled onto his side and twisted himself around to see his alarm clock. He made a face while trying to get sleep deprived eyes to focus, brow furrowing and nose wrinkled. He'd only been asleep half an hour.

His dad had _promised_ he could do nothing but sleep when he got home. With school finals and the Chargeball playoffs, he'd been running himself ragged every day, so why was he being drug from such a deep sleep he'd been looking forward to the entire way home?

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, noticing with detachment that his shoes were still on. Rubbing his eyes again, he opened his mouth to yell out to the hallway, but his mother's frantic tone cut him off. The fog cleared in an instant.

"Wilbur, we have got to go _now_!"

He shot up off the bed and was down the stairs in a flash, miraculously without injury, and poked his head around the doorway into the hall to see the residence bustling with activity. This wasn't uncommon of course, but the agitated air of the other family members immediately put him on edge.

"What's going on?" He looked in either direction, voicing his question to anyone that would answer. "Where're we going?"

Franny paused, very briefly, to put a hand on his shoulder and tugged gently in a silent request for him to walk with her as she passed his door. While she forced herself to be calm for her son, Wilbur couldn't help but notice her hands were shaking. His throat tightened, his stomach dropped and he waited for whatever she was about to tell him.

Something was horribly wrong.

"Wilbur, honey." She placed a hand on his back and nudged him forward again when he had unknowingly come to a stop. The growing fear in his gaze reflected her own.

"Something's happened, we're going to the ER-"

"_What_?"

He pulled away as if he'd been burned, the knot in his throat strangled him and his eyes stung as he looked toward the gathering members of the family. A quick tally of those present confirmed what he'd been afraid of.

"What happened to dad?" He didn't recognize his own voice, sounding just as frantic as his mother as he remembered his parting conversation with the man. He hadn't liked the idea of leaving his father there on 6th street, and his stomach turned violently knowing something _had_ happened.

"We're going to find out." Somehow his mother was able to uphold her brave face, taking charge as she instructed him to grab something to take with him. She knew it could be a long wait, and maybe he could distract himself while they waited for any news.

It took three different vehicles to transport the entire family. Wilbur sat stiffly in the back seat, staring out the window of the hovercar he'd driven home barely an hour earlier. He was motionless, save for one bouncing knee that refused to stop. Music from his headphones could be heard by everyone in the vehicle, Franny had only asked him once to turn it down. Turning away from the window, he studied the family members in the car with him. Franny drove in silence, her attention solely on the task at hand. With every red light they approached, though, he could see her facade fall a little more, her hands tightening on the wheel impatiently. Gramma and Granddad sat closely together in the middle seat, Bud's arm firmly around his wife's shoulders. Wilbur had never seen them so still or serious before, it was frightening.

When they finally did make it to the hospital and the Robinson clan was all in the building, they took up most of the large ER waiting room. The usual boisterous group of people had become very subdued, waiting anxiously on any word of what had happened to Cornelius Robinson.

Wilbur glanced up numbly from his handheld gamer, eyes falling back to the screen before he blinked and his attention snapped back up across the room. Adam stood with his mother at the information desk, looking just about the way Wilbur felt.

Their eyes met, and both boys mirrored the other's look of confusion as their mothers did the same. Wilbur slumped further into his chair, glowering from beneath lowered brows as his mother and Adam's mother tried to piece their two stories together.

_He was supposed to be careful._

He wordlessly gestured to the empty chair beside him, the two boys never speaking other than to show the other something in their game. Wilbur opened up the Kindle app and attempted to read, tried to close his eyes and nap in the uncomfortable chair. Finally he stood and paced the waiting room. He read every poster and informational flyer on the walls, spent twenty minutes deciding if a snickers bar from the vending machine was really worth $2.25, and eventually found himself back in his chair.

He paused in his grimacing at the difficulty of chewing the stale candy, when his mother's hand rested lightly on his forearm. Looking toward her questioningly, he was a little surprised that she wasn't looking back but staring at the floor. Feeling his eyes on her, she glanced up at him briefly and gave an encouraging, motherly smile. Her voice was soft, and hoarse, when she spoke.

"I love you."

Wilbur swallowed the bite he'd been working on and cleared his throat before answering. His own voice sounded raw, exhausted, and strained.

"Love you too, mom...it'll be ok..."

She watched him for a moment, taking in his features as he stared back at her. Finally she smiled with difficulty, reaching over with her other hand to fix a mussed tuft of his cowlick.

Her attention was pulled away as a nurse walked through, and Wilbur's gaze fell on the mirrors across from them. He stared for a few moments at the reversed image of his family, at the tired eyes, worried postures and anxious glances. He lowered his brows, glaring briefly at his own reflection before going back to his game player.

It was going to be a long night.


	12. Discussions in the Garage

A stream of cursing was heard from under the latest project belonging to Cornelius Robinson. Tools clattered to the floor and he pushed the creeper on wheels he was currently lying on out from under the prototype time machine with one foot.

Eight year old Wilbur sat with his legs curled up, knees under his chin as he watched. Innocently commenting without any real emotion. "That's why mom says I shouldn't help you when you're doing projects like this."

He held out an ice pack with practiced ease, this apparently wasn't an uncommon occurrence.

The blond touched his forehead before sitting up and checking for blood, finally glancing toward his son distractedly.

"What? Why? I thought you liked helping."

"I do, but mom says I don't need to learn any new vocabulary..."

Cornelius stared for a moment before chuckling softly and taking the offered pack, holding it against his left temple and looking back at the partially finished time machine. Wilbur followed his gaze as they sat together on the floor. His eyes roamed over the bubbled dome windshield, chrome framed headlights and wings. It looked to him like it was nearly finished, but there was a massive amount of wiring that needed perfected under the dash.

"What are you doing anyway...?" He finally looked away from the machine and toward his father curiously.

"That is an excellent question..." The inventor replied vaguely without thinking, contemplating the prototype before them while Wilbur in turn studied him. He leaned back, hands splayed on the floor behind him to brace himself up.

Cornelius paused and blinked, hit with the irony of what he'd said. Suddenly realizing he'd never heard Wilbur yet utter the phrase he'd just spoken. He slowly pulled his attention away from the project and looked down to meet the eyes of the child that would, one day, change his life forever.

The raven haired boy was oblivious to the inventor's realization, and would have to remain so for some time. He returned his father's gaze, unaware of his father's racing thoughts as they continued their conversation. He raised a brow in a familiar expression.

"It is-...?"

Cornelius nodded, looking back at his work. "Yes, it is, because I have no idea what I'm doing."

"What-!?"

He looked back toward his son with a smirk, taking off his glasses to rub at tired eyes. Twirling the specs briefly by the ear piece before holding them out and sliding them over Wilbur's nose playfully.

"I need a break, you take over."

Wilbur blinked rapidly, eyes straining to focus through the lenses. His father grinning at his reaction as he pushed himself up to stand. The inventor held a hand out to keep the boy from stumbling back, forgetting just how poor his own eyesight was and realizing that their vision was most likely about equal at the moment.

His son seemed to be of the same opinion, removing the round glasses and passing them back to him. With his vision restored, Cornelius considered the boy in silence while thinking over the conversation. As Wilbur circled around the time machine, he was struck once again with the fact that he himself was the one to voice the small phrase he had first heard twenty some years ago.

It was a little strange how things came full circle.

No longer seeing his son anywhere nearby, Cornelius pushed himself up as well. The ice pack forgotten as he prepared to call for the child.

A few choice words beat him to it.

He stood in stunned silence for a moment before his brows lowered, finally seeing the boy sit up in the driver's seat.

"Wilbur Robinson!"

His son was shaking his hand roughly, fingers tingling after the shock he'd received from an ungrounded wire. Wilbur's cheeks and ears colored a deep red as he looked down toward the irate inventor, sucking on a finger.

"Sorry-..."

Cornelius wordlessly held up the ice pack in question and lowered his hand again when Wilbur shook his head. The boy leaned back in the seat and looked over the controls of the dash, brushing his injured fingers over denim clad legs in an attempt to rid himself of the uncomfortable aftershock of being electrocuted.

"When can-"

"No."

"You don't even know what I was gunna say."

Cornelius shook his head, "I don't have to, the answer is no."

"But-"

The blond only raised his brows, daring the boy to continue. When Wilbur finally conceded, he spoke again.

"I'd really prefer if you got down from there."

"Why?"

"It would make me feel better." He replied vaguely. Even if the time machine wasn't yet functional, seeing Wilbur behind the wheel made him edgy. The look he gave the boy was enough, who sighed in resignation and climbed down from the unfinished machine.

As Wilbur passed his father, the older Robinson held one hand out and cleared his throat knowingly. After a pause, the dark haired boy sighed and handed over the notes he'd pocketed in hopes of learning more about his father's prototype.

"Thank you." He commented curtly, turning the folded papers over in his hands. "What were you planning on doing with these?"

He looked up just in time to see Wilbur taking off at a jog.

"That is an excellent question!"

He groaned lowly and could only pinch the bridge of his nose, suddenly alone in the garage.

"Wilbur..."


	13. Heart to Heart

**So technically with the altered timeline that was created when Lewis woke up Goob, none of this should be happening, but these are my fics and oneshots and I enjoy writing them too much :)**

**Please let me know what you think! It keeps me motivated to continue!**

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><p>He'd done everything he could.<p>

He'd tried to keep him away from the rest of the family, did his best to make sure no one figured out who Lewis really was. He had evaded uncomfortable questions, caused distractions, and finally resorted to outright lying, but Wilbur's carefully constructed charade had fallen down around him in an instant.

The look of shock that had turned to fear and then outrage, all directed at him, had been far worse than any grounding or punishment his mother could sentence. He'd never been looked upon with silent disappointment before.

It hurt.

The more he reflected on it, the more the whole incident surrounding the time machine bothered him. It had been nearly a month, life had returned to normal, but there were a few things that Wilbur couldn't get his mind around. He twisted restlessly, stretched on his bed and staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

Cornelius Robinson was a self assured, confident man. As far back as Wilbur could remember, his father had always had an answer, always knew how to solve any problem and had the resources to do so.

The twelve year old he'd met was not the same person at all.

He'd been startled by the insecurities Lewis had voiced in their eventful meeting, hiding it well with an extra layer of brash self confidence. All in an attempt to bring out the personality he associated with the inventor he knew, with little to no effect. Seeing the younger, shorter, blond haired boy apologizing so adamantly over peanut butter and jelly had been a stark contrast to the side-splitting laughter the same problem had caused only a week earlier.

What ate at his conscience the most though, was the gut wrenching moment he'd revealed Lewis to the family. The look on his new friend's face when they told him he had to go back to his own time. Wilbur couldn't even begin to comprehend what it would be like to be offered a family and then have it yanked away the next moment. He'd been the cause of that.

He'd done that to his dad.

He'd done that to his family.

He'd forced them into a situation that cause them to hurt one of their own. While it may have been to keep the timeline in order, and therefore keep Wilbur around, it didn't change the fact that it had been hurtful. That once again, Lewis had been denied a family, however briefly it may have been.

His stomach lurched and he sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and waited for the feeling to subside before he stood. Wilbur left his room and began to wander the halls, his eyes adjusting slowly to the dimly lit passages as he continued through the maze of the Robinson household.

The teen paused in the doorway of the lit room he'd expected to be inhabited and wasn't disappointed. He squinted faintly as his eyes readjusted to the lamplight, focusing on the figure of his father sitting behind the desk. The blond sat slouched in his chair, reading over legal documents and looking like he'd rather be doing anything else. The man noticed his son in the doorway after a moment, lowering the papers in his hand. His voice was low when he spoke.

"Will, what are you doing up?"

The boy hesitated, which caused Cornelius to set the paperwork down and straighten his posture with a look of concern.

"Wilbur?"

"I...couldn't sleep..." The teen finally replied, stepping across the room and standing awkwardly beside his father's desk. The man considered him a moment, knowing it was only a matter of time before their conversation picked up. Wilbur cleared a spot on the desk and propped himself upon the polished surface, swinging his bare feet lazily.

"I-..." Wilbur sighed, unsure how to start, and feeling foolish for it. "I'm sorry..."

Cornelius' brows lowered as he met the boy's gaze, in confusion or wariness, Wilbur wasn't sure. "For what...?"

Wilbur was silent a moment before turning his attention away and staring at the wall, looking over the many awards and plaques behind the desk.

"For hurting you..."

"What do you-"

Wilbur looked back toward his father, his expression communicating what he was unable to voice.

"Ah..." The inventor leaned back into his chair, running a hand over his jaw in thought, this was a bit of a touchy subject.

"I just-...I shouldn't have lied to you." Wilbur started once more, looking to the side. "Or hid you from the family, or-"

"Will." He cut the boy off, seeing where the boy's train of thought was taking him. When the teen finally looked back toward him, he started again.

"You don't know how much you changed things, do you?"

He took Wilbur's silence as a 'no' and continued.

"The morning you showed up on the rooftop, and brought me here-" He stressed the final word and emphasized their current timeline by tapping the surface of his desk with a finger, never breaking eye contact.

"You showed me what the future would eventually be, before I even knew how I was connected to any of this, I saw the type of progress that had been made. And I was amazed by it, without knowing I'd be a part of it. It at least showed me that _yes, it is possible to make the world a better place._"

He paused, knowing he had the boy's attention and thought for a moment before continuing. What he had to say next wouldn't be easy for the other to listen to, but he needed to know.

"I was jealous, Wilbur. You had a mother that called you to supper, you had family that ran to your aid when you needed it."

Wilbur glanced away, his expression pained.

"Yes, it did hurt. I didn't have _real_ friends before meeting you." At Wilbur's stunned expression, he clarified. "I knew a lot of kids, but wasn't particularly close to any of them. I'd never had anyone continuously encourage me when I thought I'd failed."

He leaned forward slightly, his elbow on the table.

"You kept saying _yes_, when I said _no_. You said _can_, when I said _can't_."

Leaning back again, Cornelius nodded slowly while thinking back on those events. "So yes, it did hurt to find out that the person who showed me how to believe in myself had lied. That you hadn't intended to uphold your end of the deal."

The room fell silent as he let that settle in, knowing the younger Robinson wasn't taking any of this lightly. Wilbur's prolonged silence could attest to that fact. The blond studied his profile, the teen's jaw set firmly in an expression he'd never seen on the boy before.

"Then I learned who you were."

Wilbur finally turned his attention back to his father.

"Looking back, I should have put it together on my own, but was so caught up with everything it had never occurred to me."

"What do you mean?" Wilbur finally questioned.

"Why would you have specifically come back to my time if you didn't know who I was?" He raised a brow and smirked. "Making the PB an' J's...annnd-"

He reached over the desk and tugged the boy's ear playfully. "You may look like your mother but those are definitely my ears."

Cornelius grinned when his son's crestfallen expression finally gave way to a hesitant grin. The boy rubbing at his now red ear ruefully as the inventor continued.

"Could it have been handled differently? Yes. Should you have let us know what had happened instead of taking the risks you did? Yes. Should you have just locked the garage door? Most definitely."

He paused briefly, considering the teen with a paternal fondness.

"But then I would never have met you."

Relief flooded Wilbur's senses and he felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, he repeated his apology for good measure, not knowing what else to say.

"I'm still sorry-"

"You made up for it, Will." His father corrected, and attempted to lighten the conversation. "C'mon now, it was last month for you, twenty six years for me, and I remember."

Wilbur nodded, the moments on sixth street were for a conversation on another day.

"You going to be able to sleep now?" Cornelius asked while gathering his papers once more.

"Maybe..." The teen replied with a yawn, his eyes falling on the papers his father held.

"I suppose I'll be calling the school in the morning."

"Why?"

"It's after two, Will."

There was a long pause before Wilbur spoke again in a deadpan tone. "Why are we always up talking in the middle of the night?"

Cornelius grinned widely, reaching out and shaking his son's shoulder in good nature.

"That is an excellent question."


	14. Christmas Lights

**AN: Let me know what you think! I don't know how to improve otherwise. There is nothing more discouraging than working hard on something and getting 0% feedback. :)**

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><p>Franny watched out the frosted windows as the cold wind whipped about the thick, falling, flakes. Hands wrapped around a warm mug, she glanced once to the side and moved to make space before the picture window as her husband joined her.<p>

"He's been out there for hours, can't you make him come in?"

"Will said it was important, you know how he is when he wants to do something."

"He didn't tell you what he was doing?"

"Not a word."

They continued to watch in silence as Wilbur hand shoveled a portion of the walk, something that hadn't been done in years. They looked out into the gathering darkness, taking in the bundled figure of their son, in contrast to the completely bare limbs Carl continued to sport.

"No, it never went there-...Carl!"

The AI dropped the decoration and turned to look toward the teen, metal hands curled and propped on fake hips in a mocking imitation of human annoyance.

"Well if you don't want my help-"

"I _need_ your help." Came the irritated reply from the rosy faced teen.

Carl couldn't help but remember a much younger version of the boy before him. Though he was currently a senior in high school, echoes of the child he remembered showed through from time to time.

"Why not ask your mom, or dad?"

The raven haired teen replied while pulling lights from the nearest box he'd pulled from the garage, his tone suddenly much more subdued.

"Because it's a surprise..."

So before long, Carl found himself acting as flashlight, electrician, screwdriver, and finally as a ladder. Wilbur hooked an arm around his golden cranium as they jerked violently to the side, Carl's footing sketchy in the slush below them.

"Wilbur I can't see!"

"Don't throw me around!"

"Well you're a lot heavier than the last time I did this!"

"Hey!" The seventeen year old said in offense. "I'm also two feet taller, thank you very much."

"Will you just get on with it?"

"I...can't..."

An artificial sigh left the humanoid. "...Why...?"

"We...left the lights on the ground..."

Finally getting the lights sorted out, Wilbur worked tirelessly, clipping the old fashioned wires into the clips along the eaves of the Robinson residence. He ducked his head whenever the breeze picked up and hid his hands in his coat whenever his numb fingers needed a break. Carl had admonished him early on for abandoning his gloves but he'd claimed he couldn't manage the little lights otherwise.

By the time he was finished putting the last of the decorations up, and the boxes back into the garage, Wilbur was shivering violently. Biting his lip, he looked at his hands in concern, needing to thaw out a bit before searching out his parents. Deciding against the travel tubes, he took the long way around, shaking his hands out every now and then as he meandered the warm hallways.

Finally making it into the kitchen, Wilbur made a bee line for the water, intent on making hot chocolate, or cider, or coffee.

He didn't care, as long as it was hot.

"We made you a cup." Came a voice from over his shoulder as Franny entered the kitchen. "It might not be hot now, it's been on the warmer for an hour..."

She looked at him in concern, "It's late, hon, you shouldn't have been out so long."

Stepping forward, she brushed snow from his shoulders, looking up at him (which was something she would never get used to) as he sniffed softly, confirming her comment on being out too long. She grinned faintly at the sight of his red cheeks, ears and nose, remembering any number of winters previous.

"I'm fine, mom, really." Reaching for the cup, he held it protectively and used it to warm his fingers.

"I want you and dad to come with me though." He glanced up, meeting her eyes, and then his father's as Cornelius had entered the room to catch the end of the conversation.

They passed Carl as the trio went to bundle up once more, both parents missing the quick look between their son and the AI. Wilbur opened the front door this time, and with a faint smile he gestured for his parents to take the lead.

Closing the door behind him, (something he'd never missed doing since he was thirteen) Wilbur took a few jogging steps to catch up with his parents, grinning once more at the sight of them arm in arm. Once making it to where he'd stopped shoveling, he cleared his throat.

"So-..."

He paused when both parents turned around to face him, both curious and more than a little chilly. Seeing that he had their attention, Wilbur looked once toward the window his parents had been posted at some hours earlier. Knowing Carl was waiting, he gave a small thumbs up they wouldn't be able to see, looking back toward his parents as all his time and hard work came to life.

The house lit up, Christmas lights brightening the facade and casting a glow over the snowy surface of the lawns. The trees shimmering as the light caught the newly fallen snow. Temporary lanterns lined the walk up to where they stood, reflecting up into the faces of the three huddled together in the cold as the snow continued to fall.

Wilbur swallowed thickly, watching his parents' reaction before starting. His voice thickened immediately, and he looked back toward the house.

"So- uh...this-... since this was always-"

"This was your grandfather's tradition..." Cornelius finished for him, his own voice thick and eyes welling with tears.

"I understand if neither of you had wanted to do it..." Wilbur blinked once, looking down and clearing his throat before looking back up toward the house, unable to look at his parents.

"But I didn't want us to miss a year-"

Franny squeezed her husband's arm once, wiping a hand under her own eyes as he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around their son in a crushing embrace.

Wilbur's voice was barely audible when he finally managed to speak. "Merry Christmas..."

Finally stepping back, Cornelius wrapped one arm around his wife's waist, the other around his son's shoulders. The three stood in silence as it continued to snow, whispering softly as it began to cover the walk once more. Focus drawing inward briefly, Cornelius smiled widely before looking toward his wife and son.

"Merry Christmas."


	15. The Right Question

**AN: Little bit different for this set of oneshots but the thought literally sprang into my head randomly at work and wouldn't leave me alone. It should stand on it's own but I'm throwing it into These Small Hours anyway. Took a little bit from the movie iRobot. This could easily be fleshed out into it's own fic, really, but Racing Time has seen WAY too much neglect.**

**There were a few requests given to me, I'm working on those also :)**

**Let me know what you think!**

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><p>The lab was silent.<p>

It wasn't supposed to be silent.

Wilbur sat behind the aged wooden desk, feet propped upon the polished surface as he glared at the far wall. Papers lay scattered on the floor around him, the aftermath of an outburst no one had been present to witness.

He uncrossed his arms and pulled the folded envelope from his coat pocket, harsh expression now directed on the parcel in his hands. With an exaggerated huff the man tore the seal, glanced briefly at the contents and promptly discarded everything with a flick of his wrist. The envelope fluttered and slid a few feet across the floor before coming to a stop.

He went back to his staring match with the wall.

Ignorant to everything around him, he ignored how the late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the lab. Or how the orange tinted glow (sweet light as his mother had often called it) glinted brightly off the many inventions, prototypes and partially finished projects. It was an altogether peaceful and pleasant scene to take in with the quiet.

Wilbur hated it.

He rubbed bloodshot eyes in exhaustion, grimaced when he loosened the tie (noose) around his throat, and sighed when he undid the first few buttons of the shirt. Running a hand through his hair, he stopped abruptly, nearly jumping out of his skin at the sudden appearance of a figure to his right. He spun the chair so violently that he nearly toppled over, sputtering in surprise as he made the attempt to right himself and stand.

"Hello, Wilbur." His father commented congenially.

Silence fell once more, Wilbur's eyes narrowing as color slowly returned to his pallid face. He took a moment to compose himself, ignoring his racing heartbeat and the tremor in his hands.

"What are you doing here?" He asked sharply, accusingly.

"I'm here to talk."

"Talk?" He laughed humorlessly. "Talk about _what_?"

"I'm sorry. I can't answer everything, Will. You have to ask the right questions."

Wilbur tilted his head in confusion, eyes narrowing even further until it dawned on him. In his surprise, in his blinding _grief_, he'd looked at the figure of his father as what he wanted to see. Not as what it was.

The hologram flickered once, bringing the new owner of Robinson Industries back to reality.

This was a recorded program (albeit a clever one) not Cornelius Robinson.

"What am I supposed to ask?"

"That all depends on you."

That was the wrong answer, as Wilbur's hand came down hard on his father's desk.

"Ugh! No!" He pointed an accusing finger toward the hologram, his other hand still planted firmly on the desk to keep him from jumping the piece of furniture. Without it between himself and the image, he'd most likely disable the chip that had slid out of the envelope.

"No! You don't get to do this! You don't get to just _leave_! Leave all of us here _without_ you and then expect some recording to stand in your place!"

Wilbur growled through the knot forming in his throat and fought back the growing nausea. He narrowed his eyes again, this time against the stinging heat that threatened to progress into another bout of tears.

He'd had enough of tears.

"I'm not ready for this! I might not be a little kid anymore- Dad- ...but-" He gasped, pent up anger, grief, and fear fueling his words.

Yet the figure didn't have the answers he wanted, Wilbur continued. He stood raging against the closest thing he'd ever have to having his father physically before him, well without the help of a certain machine anyway.

"We're _barely_ keeping it together! Mom hasn't practiced with the band in days and Gramma barely _talks_! Aunt Billy just-...and the twins _ignore_ me when I make it to the door-!"

It all came tumbling out of him, his mouth barely able to keep up with his mind as he shouted at the calm image. Finally something he said triggered a response from the program.

"_Why_ did you have to keep working?" Wilbur spat. "Everyone said it was too dangerous, told you to stop! Why didn't you listen?"

"People were dying, Wilbur. We were close, there was almost a vaccine ready. I had to."

"Well it doesn't matter now, does it." The living Robinson countered. "Because now the entire team is gone and we still have no vaccine."

"I'm sorry, Will. I can't-"

He cut the recording off and spoke over it as he flopped back into the chair and rubbed at his temples, elbows rested on his knees.

"Yeah, I know! Ok, I know! You can only answer the right questions."

He sighed and trailed off, speaking more to himself than the hologram before him. Wilbur stared at the floor, vaguely taking in the dress shoes he wore. He hated them.

His head shot back up, looking at the image.

"Why did you leave a recording?"

'Cornelius' smiled then, as if the real man had known that once Wilbur was done venting, he'd begin to think things through logically.

"To help you all."

"You knew you were-..." Wilbur shook his head, looking back at the hologram.

"What's the date of this saved recording?"

"May 15th, 2058."

Wilbur looked about the floor, spying the desk calendar and shot out of the chair. Crouched, he read over the notes and flipped around to the correct month.

"That's right before you were quarantined..." He looked back up. "You knew."

There was no response. He sighed, rolling his eyes as he rephrased it.

"Did you find the cure?"

He was up running for his keys, had yanked a desk drawer open, snatched a card to the time lab and was out the door before the hologram had finished with it's response.

"Now Wilbur, _that_, is an excellent question."


End file.
